Do You Ever Get Sick of Yourself
by MyNameIsAverage
Summary: Chelsea moves to Sunshine islands in an attempt to reconstruct her shambling life. Along the way she meets Vaughn, an attractive cowboy with a conflicting attitude. ChelseaxVaughn
1. Chapter 1

"Where are my... Ah, there they are." Chelsea mumbled to herself while trying to balance her boxes and fish her keys out of her purse simultaneously. To call it a purse was generous. It was more of a glorified rucksack. Not very feminine. After hearing the faint _click_ of her apartment door unlocking she shoved it open using her entire body and with an audible grunt.

Her apartment was the bare minimum of living standards. It was basically one huge square, divided only by the change of carpeting and the occasional wall that didn't even have a door. All of the walls were the same starch white, with faint water stains where they met with the ceiling. The place also had a habit of smelling different every time the people downstairs cooked. It was rather exciting. Which was pathetic.

Directly beside the front door was her poor excuse of an office. It consisted of her small wooden desk piled with papers, a chair that came with her dining room set (which had one leg that was noticeably shorter than the rest-caused her to rock from time to time) a phone, and no computer. This forced her to do all of her taxes, inventory and whatnot for her currently failing self-employed business by hand. Fun stuff, right?

Further down guests would notice her corduroy loveseat that she bargained for at a garage sale. Only after successfully purchasing it for only $50 did she then notice the dark brown stains on the reverse sides of the cushions. Wonderful. Beside it was a too high coffee table with a tacky owl lamp perching upon it. Chelsea wasn't sure if this qualified as a living room or not.

At the back of the place was the kitchen. Despite the fact that she barely ever had any food, her utensils and appliances sucked, Chelsea loved to cook. Well, not cooking as much as eating something delicious. Yeah, she could live without the cooking part. Her kind of person were the reason restaurants existed. Awkwardly in the middle was a table with a single chair.

And finally, to the right of the kitchen were two doors directly beside each other. One led to her bathroom and the other was her room. Her room was a spring mattress on the floor, a pillow, some sheets, and her pottery supplies which were tossed into the far corner.

Long story short: Her apartment was not worth the rent she was paying. By a long shot. Well, maybe it could be, but she didn't have enough disposable income to make it nice.

After gently placing the boxes filled with extra inventory from today onto the couch and a well deserved stretch Chelsea headed over to her answering machine. Nothing.

"Nothing," she repeated to herself.

She lifted her wrist to check the time and decided 3:30 was an okay time to fix some dinner. She ignored the voice in her head saying it was way to early. She needed something to do. Now.

She began to fill a pot with water to boil and caught a glimpse of herself from the window above her sink. Her chestnut hair was piled haphazardly ontop of her head, stray hairs peeking out of her vibrant red bandana. Her eyes had ugly bruises underneath from her lack of sleep while the rest of her body hunched under the weight of her stress.

How, she thought to herself, did I manage to do this to myself?

Just shy of a year ago she had been just another enthusiastic entrepreneur, excited to start her shop. She had convinced herself that people loved homemade bowls and plates. And at first, they sure had. Her first few months were a huge success. She was able to live comfortably and even indulge in a few luxuries. Then Chelsea got too cocky. She rationalized that the more she made, the more she would sell. What she didn't realize is that the more she produced, the less details and charm her pieces possessed. Her products were no longer in demand. Soon enough, she was forced to dramatically drop prices in a vain attempt to draw them back. Eventually she downsized and cut back on as many expenses as humanly possible.

She pays the bare minimum on bills and hope it doesn't bite her too hard in the ass later.

She was now living paycheck to paycheck on account of the few people that still dropped by her shop. Even they were slowly diminishing. Unimpressed with her now repetitive, unoriginal inventory.

Lazily, she flicked on the burner's to her stove. Crossing her arms over her chest she stood and glared at the boiling water.

She remembered as a kid her Aunt Claire would tell her and her cousin Mark that the reason the water boiled was because she focused all of her anger into a super-heat-ray-vision. She would tell them never to get her too angry or else they would be next.

"No, that's impossible!" Mark had said.

"Oh really?" Claire glanced down from the stove. "Have you never heard of someone being so furious their blood boiled?" When the two kids simply looked at each other, "I thought so." was her reply. "Besides, how else do you think I get Jack to listen to me?"

Screaming and giggling the two of them ran out to the fields and wondered about how such a power could truly be.

"I still don't believe it. If it was real, why can't everyone do it?" Mark asked while balancing on top of a fallen tree trunk. He spread his arms wide took careful, deliberate steps. Uncle Jack had shown them how to tell the age of a tree by cutting off a branch and counting the rings inside. This one was 23 years before it fell. "Besides, how would it even you know... work?"

Chelsea took a running start and leaped onto the neighboring rock, scrambling to reach the top. "Who cares?" She grunted. "Think of how useful it would be. Someone steals your bike? _Zap. _Bath water not warm enough? _Zap. _That bird outside your window in the morning that won't be quiet? _Zap, zap, zap"_

Laughing at Chelsea's bizarre gestures with each zapping sound Mark lost his footing and toppled to the ground with a "Oof". After a momentary pause the length of a heartbeat the two erupted into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

The hiss of water hitting direct heat sucked Chelsea from her momentary flashback. Quickly she turned down the heat on the stove and poured in some sort of whole grain pasta.

Almost immediately after the contents of the box was emptied there were three distinct raps on her front door.

Crossing the distance in five long strides, Chelsea hesitantly opened her door and was greeted with a sense of dread.

It was Adrian. A short, stocky man with more hair in his ears than on his head. Oh, and he was her landlord.

_Shit. _"Wow, hey Adrian. How's it going?" _What the hell are you doing here?_

Never being one for small talk, he cut the formalities and went straight to the point. "Your being evicted."

"Christ, I told you all I needed was a few more months to get back on my feet. Then I'll be able to-"

"No. You've been pulling this shit for too long now. I gave you plenty of extensions and even made a few exceptions. It ends now. There are plenty of other people who are actually goddamn _capable _of paying rent who I can give this place to."

Chelsea steeled herself. Inside she was crying, pleading with him to just find it in his small, careless heart to help her. She was screaming at herself for ignoring the notices. For not figuring some kind of solution out earlier. On the outside, she balled her fists and looked him dead in the eyes, not betraying any signs of weakness. "Fine. How long do I have?"

"Two weeks." And with that, he turned and stalked away.

All sadness and self pity was replaced with pure, raw anger. What an ass. Sure, it was her own fault, but who likes to blame themselves? Still within eyesight, Chelsea watched the little man shuffle about.

"Zap" She whispered, closing the door behind her.

Remembering the still cooking noodles she cut the heat, drained the water but did not eat.

Flopping on the couch so her legs dangled over the armrest she threw one arm over her eyes and contemplated the situation.

Sell the shop, use the money for a new place, find a job close by, maybe even get a roommate. Sure, she was sacrificing the one thing she loved, and would probably only get part-time work thanks to her nonexistent college education. Plus, she would have a complete stranger living with her. What other choice did she have really?

Mark? Mark. _Mark._

Bolting upright so fast she dizzied herself, Chelsea snatched her phone from it's cradle and almost violently punched in Marks number.

Growing up, they were the best of friends. Sure, they parted ways after high school but still kept in touch with phone calls every other week. He had taken up a farm on an _island_ of all things. But, from what she'd gathered he was doing pretty well for himself.

"Hell-o?" he dragged out the last syllable.

"Howdy there partner. I reckon you be doing well?" Chelsea teased

"Ha, that's cute Chels. Really, so funny." She could practically hear his eyes rolling.

"Aw, c'mon. I'm just playing. How's the ranch?"

"Good, good. Not much has changed since our last call. Oh, I raised an island using magical rocks. _That _was exciting."

"Now who's being the funny one?"

"Me, I am. Weren't you listening? Anyways, the shop still doing well?"

_Deep breath. You can do this. Just ask for help._

"I, yeah. Yeah. It's going great. Real great. Better than great. The best." _Really? Okay, fine. Lying's cool too. By the way, very convincing Chels. Seriously, go for the Oscar._

Since Mark wasn't a complete dumb ass, he was easily able to decrypt what was actually going on. "Chels... don't lie. Even if I didn't know you, that was possibly the most horrendous act I've ever witnessed. Be real with me. What's going on?

"Horrendous, huh? Big word." Not knowing what else to say but the truth, Chelsea revealed what she had been hiding from her cousin since her life has gone spiraling downhill. She admitted how much she needed his help, whatever the form.

She heard him exhale slowly, probably thinking. "Alright... Okay I got something. Just to let you know, it involves you moving up here" When he heard no complaint he plowed on. "The Island is still pretty new, with plenty of opportunity. Sell the shop, use the money for a ferry ticket here, and just... start over. Learn from your mistakes. You can room with me until you figure things out. Deal? "

Looking around her, Chelsea decided she could very much leave all this behind.

"Deal. See you in two weeks."

* * *

**A/N Alright, so I need your help. I love to write. But, I'm ver a little embarassed to show anyone I know personally my stories. It would mean so much to me if you dropped a reveiw telling me what you think. Ex. What's good, what needs work, spelling errors etc.**

**Anywaaaaaaaaaaaaays**

**This is basically the introduction to the story, I needed a reason why Chelsea went to the Island. I always found that the opposite character just kind of showed up, and served no purpose really. So, yes. Thanks again and please please please reveiw :)**

**I'll even make it easy for the people too lazy to write something:**

**1=Good**

**2=Bad**

**3=I don't know yet, write more.**


	2. Chapter 2

So, in two weeks time Chelsea found herself heaving luggage into a dull yellow taxi, which had acquired ugly brown rust marks near the tires from it's years of relentless service.

Because she was still more than a little bitter about being forced out of her home, she hadn't surrendered her ownership to Adrian until the last possible minute. Waltzing into his office fifteen minutes prior to when the cab she called was supposed to arrive, belongings in tow, she had tossed her keys in his direction with a lazy flick of her wrist. Much to her concealed joy, they had landed squarely in his cup of (most likely instant) coffee. To his credit, his only betrayal of immediate anger was how he had crumpled his now soggy pile of paper work.

Fantastic start to the day, she thought with a smile of smug self satisfaction.

Chelsea had sold everything, save for the bare necessities and her pottery wheel(which required it's own pair of movers to...well, move) and thankfully had enough to buy her a general admission ticket to the Ferry. As a result, the remaining of her possessions could now snugly fit into two twin olive green duffel bags.

Sandwiching herself into the backseat between her bags, Chelsea glanced down to the wadded piece of scrap stationary in her hand that had the address of the dock hastily scribbled upon it.

"Hi, uh Perk Ports, 324 Hurley Street." Remembering her barely there manners, she sputtered in a quick "Please."

Rolling his cigarette between his lips to the opposite side of his mouth, the driver gave a low grunt of acknowledgment started the car with an ungraceful lurch.

Since her destination was on the other side of the suburban town, she guessed she had roughly an hour, hour and a half drive to look forward to. She took the time to allow herself to think about what was yet to come.

Ugh, cue the cheesy inspirational music.

Joking aside, she was scared. From what Mark had told her Sunshine Island was a quaint little community where everyone knew each other. Where everyone knew Mark.

Don't get her wrong, Chelsea loved Mark. He was her closest friend throughout a majority of her life. The thing is, he acted as if everyone shit glitter and exhaled rainbows. That the world was a glorious, magical place where dreams came true.

He was very much a glass half-full kind of guy. Now, Chelsea didn't see the glass as half empty per say, but she was definitely not, by any means, as optimistic as him. Her sarcasm and sass were usually interpenetrated as qualities of a pessimist though.

Feeling like a high school freshman all over again, she worried about whether or not the inhabitants of the island would like her. What a childish thing to consider, but she couldn't help it.

Chances were they loved Mark, and he had told them about his city embracing cousin coming to live with him. Since he is the biggest sweetheart there ever was, he probably talked her up and set a pretty high standard. Would they assume she lived up to such an expectation? An equally peppy person with a sparkling personality? .

She started to pick at the fraying strings on the edge of the ever growing hole in her jeans. A nervous habit she'd picked up earlier on in life. At the back of her mind, she heard Aunt Claire scolding her _"Chelsea cut it out. You'll wreck them". _Smiling slightly, she snatched her hand away and clasped both in the middle of her lap.

The smell of crisp air filled with sea salt interrupted her thought. Glancing over towards the window, she saw a huge metal ramp leading up to an even bigger boat. Only a few scattered people were entering at this point, last minute passengers like herself.

"Keep the change," she said while slapping a couple of bills into the drivers hand.

Jaywalking across the busy street, she made a mad-dash towards the segway to her new life. She dodged on coming traffic and waved away a sluggish looking teenager handing out flyers for his band's upcoming show.

Approaching the dock, Chelsea noticed a couple in their prime, greeting their daughter who had presumably, just arrived via the previous Ferry. She saw how the girls father hugged her close to his chest. She saw her mothers tearing eyes from emotional moment. She saw how happy the girl was to be home, to be with the people who raised her. Loved her.

Chelsea half walked, half ran up the ramp. Clearly not paying attention to where she placed her feet, she tripped over a narrow groove in the floor and proceeded to metaphorically and literally, eat dirt.

First thing to make contact with the cold, harsh, unforgivably _painful _floor was her elbows. The impact sparked a fierce fire in her shoulders. They were soon after followed by her stomach, knees, and feet. It looked like she was making a really bad attempt at "the worm". She would have laughed at her own personal ribbing if every single ounce of breath hadn't been knocked out of her.

A low whistle made it to her ears."Yikes, quite the accident you had here, Doll." Without her even realizing it, a middle-aged woman had made her way towards her little crash site. She was dressed in a crisp white shirt with blue trimming and matching pants. Over her heart she adorned roughly a dozen or so official looking pins. Her graying hair had a sailors had perched upon it.

Going out on a limb, Chelsea guessed she was the Captain.

"No, no accident. I was actually just testing the laws of gravity." Chelsea deadpanned.

"Well, smart ass comments are usually a good sign. You don't seem to be hurt too bad." The Captain crouched to Chelsea's level. Her limbs felt a little rubbery. She didn't want to risk standing up only to fall all over again.

Gingerly, she rolled shoulders to test their mobility. Hopefully they'd still be able to carry the extra weight of her bags.

Speaking of which...

Craning her neck and looking around, she couldn't catch sight of her things. "Miss, or, uh Captain. Miss Captain." The woman grinned at her obvious display of not knowing how to address her person. "Do you happen to know... Where my bags went?"

"Call me Janet," The woman offered. "And yes, your cargo slid down the -no, don't get up. Someone's carrying them to you as we speak."

Her suggestive tone peaked Chelsea's interest. Casting her gaze towards the bottom of the slanting terrain, she saw that Janet spoke the truth. He was tall, roughly 6'2, and wore a sandy vest over a black dress shirt with dark wash jeans. A Stetson the colour of milk chocolate covered his moonlight silver hair. The pair of cowboy boots he wore completed his Western outfit.

_Pft. Screw the getup. _Chelsea thought. He would be attractive wearing dingy rags. The closer he came, the more apparent that little fact became. His strong jaw line, perfectly curved nose, and, _oh my God are his eyes-? _

"Here." The target of her mental ogling huffed.

_Purple. _Dumbstruck for half a second but recovering quickly, she quickly snatched her bags from the ground before they had a chance to roll back down. Trusting her legs not to buckle, she lifted herself up to her feet. To her disappointment, he had tipped his hat down to cover his Adonis-worthy face.

"Thanks, who knew that luggage didn't obediently wait by a persons side while they face-planted?" _Shut up Chelsea, that was a horrible._

But to her complete and utter shock, she saw the corners of his mouth lift just a tiny fraction. It was probably a pity smile, but she'd take it.

"Well Vaughn, I didn't peg you as the chivalrous type." Janet commented coyly.

His mouth dropped into hard line while his violet eyes shot Janet an icy stare.

"Don't you have a ship to sail?" And with that, he entered the grand Ferryboat.

"Oh ho ho, he's a tad testy." Chelsea remarked. "You two know each other?"

Chuckling, Janet accompanied Chelsea to the entrance and punched her ticket in for her.

"He's a regular passenger. Does deliveries to small towns. I learned a while back not to take his talk to heart. He's like that with everybody, I just can't resist egging him on sometimes though."

"I'll make a mental note of that then, could come in handy for future reference. I'm Chelsea, by the way." She mentally kicked herself for not mentioning that sooner.

The pair had made it to the main lobby which divided itself into four separate halls. Janet pointed her in the general direction of her room, said a quick goodbye, and turned down the opposite hallway. Most likely towards the bow of the ship.

Finding her room in no time at all, Chelsea threw her stuff onto the bunk and awaited departure. Soon after, she heard three sharp blares of a horn, indicating that they were finally setting sail.

* * *

It didn't take Chelsea long to get bored. Not long at all. Like, seven minutes tops. Already having a short attention span, just sitting in a cramped room with even less stuff than her dusty old apartment nearly drove her mad.

Thumb twiddling can only go so far.

Why not go on a little adventure? She left the cabin and locked the door behind her. She made a point to remember the fact that there was portrait of a woman with teal hair outside her room. It would act as breadcrumb, reminding her where her room was. Chelsea had an awful habit of forgetting where things where.

Lightly treading through the quite halls, she walked aimlessly with no destination in mind. To her dismay, much of the ship looked exactly the same. Thinking all hope was lost, she almost returned to her room before she saw it.

Her saving grace.

A light at the end of a tunnel.

The silver lining.

A _bar._

Oh happy day! It was a beautiful, with red velvet stools lined up in front of a gorgeous wooden island that had intricate designs chiseled into its dark surface. Soft classical music played in the background that made everything in the room seem sultry and sexy. A crystal chandelier illuminated the room with a soft glow. A handful of tables looked a little out of place in the middle of the maroon rug covered floor.

Right, and it also had booze.

The space was only being taken advantage of by an elderly couple sitting at one of the tables, and a man slouching in a corner at the bar.

He was sipping from a tall glass of white colour liquid, his eyes scoping the room. It was the very moment that violet met blue, when she realized who he was.

The handsome stranger from earlier, Vaughn.

_Bonus. _Thought Chelsea.

Never one for being shy, she trudged on over to the seat right next to him. She ordered a Coke mixed with Rum, and swiveled her seat to face Vaughn, her arm propped against the ledge.

She chose to ignore the fact that he shifted away slightly.

"Hey, you're Vaughn. Janet's friend, right?" Chelsea asked innocently.

"Wrong. We're not friends." He nearly sneered the word.

Not fazed by his temper, she calmly rephrased, "Okay, okay. Let me try this again: Hey, you're Vaughn, that cute guy I met for about two seconds who was kind enough to help out while I was busy, you know, wiping my face with the floor."

She shot him a toothy grin as he coughed up some of the drink he had been in the middle of swallowing. She knew she was making him uncomfortable, but made no attempt to render the situation.

"Go away." He growled, finally finding his voice.

She took a delicate sip of her drink. "No. I don't think I will. What _is_ that your drinking?" Changing the subject in a less than subtle way.

"Milk."

She stared at him incredulously.

He stared back, challenging her to say something.

"I thought it looked too thin to be a pina colada." She replied smoothly.

She watched him drain the glass, his Adams-apple shifting back and forth within his throat. He motioned for a refill, and turned to face her.

"Look, if I had known that doing you that favour would have lead up to this," He gestured to the air between them, "Believe me, I would have gladly just let your shit roll on by."

"Really?" she asked, leaning towards him.

He mimicked her action, his face so close she could see his five o'clock shadow sprouting on his lovely, angled chin.

"Without hesitation." He said in a low voice.

Leaning closer still, so she was whispering beside his ear, "Then why are you still here?"

"That," he answered moving away from her,"is an excellent question."

"Really? You think it's up there with "How do they get the jelly inside of the powdered doughnut?" 'Cause I think that sets the standard prett-y high." She saw him crack a grin at that one, thankfully no longer looking like he wanted to ditch her.

That much.

She recalled the conversation she had with the Captain earlier on in the evening. "Janet told me you make deliveries to places for a living?"

He nodded once. "Usually animals, sometimes equipment."

"For, like, farms and stuff?" Chelsea asked, connecting a couple of mental dots.

"...Yeah."

"Does your route include Sunshine Island?" she asked.

"...Yeah." He seemed to sense where this conversation was going. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of being right.

"Good to know. Well," She said, beginning to rise from her seat. "I'll be seeing you around. It's about time for me to retire." It wasn't, but she wanted to be the one to leave first, not him. She sent a wink his way, which he responded to by lowering the lip of his hat.

"Stop that, it's criminal for a face like yours to be hidden from the public eye." Not bothering to see his reaction to her words, she paid her tab and turned towards the exit.

"What's your name?" He boldly called out to her.

"That, is an _excellent _question." she taunted, without looking back. 

* * *

**A/N Jeebus, I've been trying to edit the content in this chapter for, like, ever. But nooooo Error 2 just wouldn't have it. Chapter 3 is currently a work in progress, and I know this story is pretty rough, but in my defence, it's unbeta'd. I know I should probably invest my time into looking for one, but I don't really see myself as a good enough writer to get one, which is ironic 'cause like, that's what they do? Make writers better. **

**So, again reveiws are really welcome and thank you so much to those of you who have :) Hey, wanna do the same system for you too-lazy-to-actually-write-anything people? I know your out there. O.o**

**1- Not too shabby dearest writer, good job.**

**2- You suck. You should be ashamed for writing such a horrible excuse for literature.**

**3- Eh, I'm a fence sitter. I don't know yet if I like your story or not, so you should really hurry up and update. Sheesh.**

**4- I like turtles.**


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